


And the Sun Will Shine

by darrus



Series: Threefold Cord [3]
Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrus/pseuds/darrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love you, Joachim, but what a mess we've made of it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Sun Will Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing the story from previous parts.
> 
> 3 premises it all is based upon:  
> 1 - Klinsmann and Matthäus were lovers till 1998 and it didn't end well.  
> 2 - Klinsmann's first love is Gary Mabbutt, his teammate from "Tottenham"/  
> 3 - Joachim got the first name right but the last name wrong...

January 2008

**Joachim**

 

"You haven’t told me."  
"There wasn’t much to tell until recently, you know." 

Jürgen’s voice is light and his tone is even. Such a contrast to his upset, angered tone, and he’s unable to get hold of himself, not since this morning when he chanced upon the article while browsing through the web. They’ve spoken yesterday on the phone, they’ve spoken today, and Jürgen haven’t told him anything.

"I didn’t even know that you’re in Germany."  
"I never thought that Franz will be in such a hurry to sign the contract. Came as a surprise to me too."

And laughs.  
Jürgen laughs like there is nothing wrong, as if he thinks that it’s perfectly normal that his lover finds out such things through the press and gets it confirmed by the call of journalist waiting to hear about his reaction.  
Maybe Jürgen is right, but… But it’s not supposed to be like that, not between them, not…

"You should have said at least something."  
"It was all pretty much jive talking before they put a contract on the table, and then it all went in a hurry, you know how it always happens."

But you should have told me… And he bites his lip and doesn’t say it, because there’s no need in repeating things twice, they’ve already… covered it. Short angry laughter dies in his throat.

"Bayern, for God’s sake! Why Bayern?"  
"It’s a great opportunity and a great project, you’ve said it yourself. And it’s much closer to Stuttgart than California… And to Freiburg too."

And if Jürgen didn’t catch the irony in his question or decided not to pay attention is of no importance anymore. Suddenly all he wants is to hang on and quit this pointless chat because it’s more than he can bear. It’s just too much.

"I love you."  
"I love you", and now there’s a hint of surprise in Jürgen’s voice. Like always when he says these words.

The street is full, busy with people as he walks past the parking lot and down the street, still holding the phone in his hand. ‘Why do you have to be a heartbreaker…’, sings the radio, and he shrugs, throwing the words out of his head.

It is not supposed to be like that, and it dawns on him suddenly – that it’s the first time when he didn’t know in advance about Jürgen’s future plans, the first time in three and a half years. Phone talks and emails – and still he knew no more than all of these people around him.

‘I love you’, said Jürgen, but now he wonders what these words really mean. If they mean anything at all…

***

 

Autumn 2009

 

**Jürgen**

 

From the billboards all over the streets the man is looking down at him. In his mid-forties, small wrinkles gathering around the blue eyes and blinding, assured smile that will make a Hollywood star proud lighting up his face. Blond hair, red club jacket over the immaculate light-blue shirt. 

This man is smiling at him from the posters on the corridor walls. Red t-shirt and jeans, ball in hand, impossible green grass creating a fitting background. And this smile – absolutely stunning, happy, brighter than the sun.

Autograph-cards, and the man is still smiling. In this white t-shirt and dark-blue track-pants he looks like one of the players, much younger than he should look. Or maybe it’s just the smile that has this effect. This devil-may-care, beautiful and mischievous smile.

And from the mirror on the bathroom wall the same man is smiling at him again. Naked lean body, wet hair, now looking dark-gold, plastered to his scull. Drops of water are falling to the floor, glistening on his skin, and he is smiling – as always.

 

It’s his face in the mirror though he barely recognizes himself lately. Not much reasons to be constantly smiling except for his children – ‘Bayern’ is turning out to be even more of an adventure than he’s originally imagined, but even it is not the problem, he’s always loved challenges after all… 

His problem is much more complicated and strictly speaking it’s not a problem at all, just some wild game his nerves are playing at him it seems. And if he’d ever try to explain why his own smile looks fake to him, he’d be hard pressed to find the adequate words.

***

_He remembers all too well the first time he really was scared – this mind-numbing terror that cures all the nightmares at once and makes horror movies boring._

_It was autumn – if the calendar was to be believed, but everything around was still living in summer, enjoying the last really warm days before the rains start. In London it was all the more noticeable because the habits of local weather are widely known. Technically, it was already September, but still nobody cared._

_His memories are full of little details. Driving up the streets, he noticed the first leaves that fell on the pavement – still green, with dry edges. The doves were cooing peacefully, the music from new charts played at the background. He was in love and it seemed like it was for the first time in his life, because the feeling was so unlike everything he’s experienced before. He was still feeling himself a bit of a traitor because it seemed unfair to Debbie, but then again it felt right – like he doesn’t take anything from her, and he was a little confused – but in love and happy for it._

_The morning was sunny. He was driving and singing along – to carry on the coach’s order which was like ‘to wake up this damned Mabbutt and drag him to the training field even by force’, and he was intending to do just that._

_He remembers the weight of the keys in his pocket – Gary’s keys, on a plain keychain – that he kept apart from his own. And the fresh air and all the noises of big town that surrounded him when he’s got out of the car._

_It came to him later that it was pure luck that Gary left the key in the keyhole before going to bed, otherwise he could have left right there – but the keys told him that the man is home. And he was home, sleeping… And not answering when he called him by the name._

_He wasn’t scared then and he wasn’t panicking when he was calling the medics and waiting for them to arrive, he was absolutely calm and collected riding to the hospital with them, he’s even remembered to lock the door before leaving the house and turning the light off. The word ‘coma’ failed to impress him – he knew about this part of this illness from Gary himself. One of the doctors praised his composure and he smiled back. He’s bantered with coaches during training – he came late, of course, but the excuse was more than valid. They even tried to bang into the hospital in the evening and surely were not admitted and went to the pub._

_It got to him only in the morning (finally – noticed the rational part of his mind). His luck held – he was home alone, so he could break the cup, spill the milk, cut himself while shaving and sit on the floor clutching the towel for almost two hours without worrying anyone._

_Next time he felt the real fear was when his father’s doctor first said the word ‘cancer’._

***

The evenings are cold and it doesn’t leave any doubts that summer has ended. Jonathan is sitting at his desk, puzzling over the homework or making it look like he does. He won’t be too surprised if he finds the new edition of ‘Bravo’ under the notebooks. No, they don’t forbid their son to read it, but he’s supposed to be working, and it’s more fun reading when parents don’t know about it – that he remembers from his own childhood.

And Debbie is sitting with Laila – the girl is ill. Again. Another reason to notice that it is already autumn.

The girl is catching cold every week, she’s used to Californian weather, his beloved tropical flower trying to adjust to the new soil. Little endearing child that already has lots of friends and her only complaint is that it’s always cold. And that her brother doesn’t let her play football with him…

His mother-in-law always tells him that he allows his children too much. His own mother has the same opinion. Debbie always laughs at that and tells him that it’s alright because she is forbidding everything anyway, therefore they have the perfect balance.

It’s Debbie’s words that comfort him when he’s worried or scared. She is the gift, the most precious treasure in his life – and she understands him. Maybe the only person who understands him completely.

Oh, how he loves her. From the day they’ve met and still he loves her so much that sometimes it’s hard to breathe. Her word of praise and her smile means to him so much that he sometimes feels himself like a schoolboy doing silly things to earn the attention of a girl from parallel class. Her love is a gift, she herself is the single most important person in his life, and if he ever regrets something – it is that they haven’t met earlier, that they’ve lost so many years without each other.

He still doesn’t know how he fell in love with Gary while loving her and how it came that the feeling hasn’t subsided even though the feelings he has for Gary are just as strong… He doesn’t understand what happened with him and how he can love two people at the same time.

He is pathetic, he knows. And maybe he doesn’t deserve them both and their love, but they should know better. 

He loves them both. It’s different, but it’s the same after all.

***

_He’s proposed to Debbie in May of 1995. They were walking hand in hand over the Thames – he was almost dragging her and she was laughing and complaining about walking on high heals, and his sweater was wrapped around her shoulders. She’s jumped over the puddle of mood on the pavement while holding tightly to his hand, he’s turned to her and smiled and said ‘Marry me’, and her fingers were warm in his hand. She’s smiled back and said ‘yes’.  
He’s never touched Gary after that because betraying her was something impossible to imagine. She was his wife, and Gary… _

_Gary understood even without explanation. Everything has ended. Everything but a feeling._

***

And he still doesn’t know how it can be possible that he loves them both and still his marriage is the happiest ever imaginable.

Maybe – he’s reasoned with himself after all – it goes with the sexuality.

He’s bi, and it never bothered him that he is – just more options and this is it. He’s had enough male and female partners to understand that gender is not important. He has a male lover now actually, and he has a suspicion that Debbie knows about it.

He’s never had another woman since the day he’s met her. Just like that. She was the perfect woman, the lady of his dreams and even then he’s thought of her as a future wife and had eyes for no one but her.

Still his body wanted more and that’s how his ill-advised affair with Lothar got a second breath – oh, where were his brains? Since it ended he’s promised to himself that if he ever finds another man for a lover it’ll be someone he knows and trusts. Then Joachim came…

Debbie knows, though she’s never asked and he’s never said a word.

Debbie knows and doesn’t care, it’s so far from her, so unimportant to their life – like it’s not happening at all.

He knows that if he ever feels for someone like he feels for her it will be the end of the marriage – she will throw him out in a second. But he also knows that it’s impossible. Even his love for Gary, this sadness he sometimes feels for losing him, losing forever – it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.

 

But still sometimes it comes over him – eternal ‘what if’. What if he’s never met one of them, how could it be, how could he… Stopping himself just in time, he’s feeling lost. He is a happy man, but sometimes… sometimes…

 

What he hates most is feeling out of control of his own feelings. That’s why his own smile seems foreign to him when he’s looking in the mirror in his own bathroom. 

***

 

**Joachim**

 

He’s had a lot of time to think. A lot – by his own measurement. A lot and then not enough. Not nearly enough to go through everything that was going on in his mind.

It has happened in Berlin – or maybe in München, somewhere between the cigarette crushed carelessly in Frank’s embrace and an empty corridor of the “Four Seasons” hotel. Somewhere and sometime between these two points some little thing inside of him snapped, broken beyond repair – but something has risen from there.

Maybe – he thinks – it was when he threw the cheap plastic lighter into the trash-bin and missed. Or maybe – he reasons with himself – when his palm was gripping the doorknob so hard he was unable to feel his own fingers – maybe it has happened then.

It goes through his mind – ‘I must not fear, fear is a mind-killer’, something he’s read long ago. It doesn’t annoy him, but what is unnerving is the thought that he doesn’t remember where he heard or read it. And he doesn’t fear. But still it goes on and on and on. And he doesn’t even know – or remember – what are the words that continue the phrase.

He doesn’t fear. There is the greatest insurance he has – and it is Jürgen’s ‘I love you’ that he’s heard the last time they’ve said goodbye. And many times before that. 

But that night in München he’s looked in Jürgen’s eyes and realized that Jürgen wouldn’t hear him whatever he might be saying. And he’s listened to the sleepy voice on the other side of the line, recognizing it and rationalizing – yes, this one, and how much sense it makes that the two are bound by their club and the World Cup and the swift understanding that only friendship brings…

And there was another night. In winter, much earlier, and there was a name falling from Jürgen’s lips – and the name now matched the voice.

He’s cowered out back then, and did it again – and was ready to continue so. But he’s had too much time to think.

He didn’t want to know what he didn’t want to know, and that’s where the word ‘fear’ comes up again. He didn’t want to know why’s and what’s, and so he didn’t. At first.

Till the reason took over. And another one of Jürgen’s soft ‘I love you’ told him that he may ask whatever he wants – and that the answers will hurt him no more than the questions.

He’s felt himself sure enough to ask Jürgen anything – any question he kept pushing aside for more than a year. The only thing stopping him now from blurting it all out loud was the thought about the one he loves. If he could do it without causing the disquiet on the other man – he’d do it long ago. 

But he wants to ask. Curious and anticipating, he wants to ask, but even more, he really wants to know.

Everything there is to know. He feels it to be his right – after all, he’s the one Jürgen says ‘I love you’ to.

***

_There is time._   
_A straight-line sequence._   
_Measured by seconds and hours and years._   
_Measured by the points that mark important turns._   
_Every regret in this world comes down to ‘if only I’ve done it in time’._

*** 

Black leather jacket and tousled hair – this is him. And in front of him Jürgen, steel-grey shirt strangely making his eyes look even bluer than they are. 

“I’m sorry to make you wait even longer”, says Jürgen with the soft smile.

“Can’t it wait?” He protests loudly. And nods, agreeing, at the same time. 

“Just one more hour. I’m sorry, Joachim”, Jürgen turns to leave. And he thinks he hears a barely audible whisper just when Jürgen walks out of the door.

“So sorry…”

***

 

**Jürgen**

 

It hits him suddenly, with the force of a gunshot. It’s everywhere, on the streets and at the stadium, even in the loneliness of his office and in the restaurant in the evening. It hits him and holds him, and no way, no way he is going to get free.

‘I love you’ they say, and he sees their faces alight with happiness and joy. When the red-haired girl turns to the boy in a loose t-shirt, he sees it, and the black guy is holding his fancy close to him and whispers in her ear, and he sees. There is brightness and sunshine, and they say ‘I love you’, and they speak to each other – and they fly. They hold each other’s hands and fly.

And everywhere he turns, here they are, those who love and are loved, those who say and hear, happy couples all around. Everywhere, and the happiness is overwhelming, and it seems that there is no summer – all the warmth and sunlight is love, all around him there is only love.

And he knows what a mess he’s made of his own life.

He wants to run and jump on the plane that is taking off right now – and fly too, like they are flying, even though he doesn’t have wings. And fly and touch the earth in London, and stay there. Be there, stay there, live there, where love is.

But there’s no going back, and in the turmoil that is his life right now that is only one thing he is certain of. Time is a straight line, and no matter where you turn, time won’t turn back with you.

So instead he goes and watches some movie in cinema nearby, and sees love, and breathes love till he can’t breathe any more.

‘I’m sorry, Joachim’, that’s all he says. 

And then he lets the man say everything else.

Joachim is livid – and he has all the rights to be, and the accent that is even more noticeable than ever makes Joachim’s words a constant hiss, and the words are sharper than ever, sharper than a hit of a bullwhip, and he listens to the words and keeps silent. 

He’s said the only thing he had to say.

And in the morning he wakes up alone and wishes he didn’t open his eyes, because the only thing he can see is Joachim’s eyes in front of him – dark eyes overflowing with pain, and the pain is so strong his fists clench when he attempts to silence the scream. And he knows that the pain will stay with him, and accepts it just as he accepted the straight-line-time without turns and bends.

He washes his face and looks in the mirror and doesn’t see because the most revolting sight for him right now is his face that reflects no pain.

And then he walks out into the sunlight and Joachim stands up from the bench to greet him – and smiles.

Smiles.

And he doesn’t understand – he can’t, and he simply repeats ‘I’m sorry’ and moves to walk past Joachim till he hears the answer that stops him right in his tracks.

‘No, I am sorry. I’ve overreacted yesterday’.

And then Joachim touches his hand and holds it. And smiles again. And says ‘It’s alright’.  
He turns to look at the man in front of him, almost certain to see some signs of him being drunk – but there are none. Joachim is sober and beautiful and brilliant, and his own ragged appearance is a stark contrast to his lover’s… former lover’s looks, looks of a man who’s had a good night’s sleep, undisturbed by pettiness of life. And it makes him feel better – slightly better.

And Joachim notices his surprise because he laughs out loud and shrugs. “Did you think I really love you?”

No, he never really did. He shakes his head no and is ready to confirm it out loud but Joachim is talking again already.

“My pride sure was hurt, but it’s alright. It’s alright, Jürgen, don’t worry. Everything is alright”. In a soothing tone, quietly and gently, Joachim is reassuring him that everything is indeed alright and for the first time in how many days he starts to smile…

“It’s no problem and it doesn’t matter. It’s alright. Everything’s alright. I won’t be telling you that I love you if it’s such a big matter for you but there is absolutely no problem. We are fine”. 

Joachim smiles, happy and sure, and his heart sinks, sinks lower and lower. And he starts to say that it’s not alright and tries to explain that he doesn’t want it, that it suddenly hit him with the force of a gunshot and he doesn’t want it to be like it was, and he can’t… Joachim waves off his barely forming words and still smiles. So happy. So sure.

“I can’t do it anymore”, he says.

And Joachim laughs.

And answers.

“Who cares about you?”

And kisses him, in the middle of the sunny street.

***

And then he opens his eyes.

***

And his phone starts ringing.

He blinks in the darkness and realizes that the blur he sees in front of his eyes might have nothing to do with the bleak light and is not just a remnants of his fitful sleep. And stumbles off the bed, holding a phone and not even looking at it – not looking at anything but a mirror on the wall. That is not a mirror, but the window – and he sees the reflection in the glass nevertheless.

“Hello”, his voice is hoarse. Just the troubled night, heart beating rapidly, beating, beating. In silence.

“I’m sorry”, comes from the other end in hushed whisper. So quiet and so gentle. Lothar, sounding so unlike Lothar. So meaningless and plain. “I’ve misdialed. I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry”.

“So you are”, the words are sharp, sharper than a hit of a bullwhip, leaving an angry red trail and the stunned silence. And the window with the reflection in it.

“I’m sorry”.

“I’m sorry”.

Phrases said at the same time. They collide into each other in the middle of the line, exploding soundlessly.

“I’m sorry”, repeats Lothar – and doesn’t hang up.

He doesn’t hang up – and keeps his silence.

Silence stretches across the distance and stays still, so still.

I’m sorry, Joachim.

“I’m sorry”.

“I’m sorry”.

So sorry.

“I just wish…” 

He wishes too. He wishes it was Gary. He wishes it was London. He wishes it was years ago.

He wishes he didn’t wish.

But he’s just sorry.

“Have you ever… dreamed…”, he stumbles over the last step of the stairway, moving closer to the window, touching his fingertips to the cold glass, touching his own reflection, “that you were unable to touch… anyone… anything?”

“I did”.

He wishes it was sunlight. But the night is deep. So deep.

“Were…”, leaning closer to the glass, “you…”, his voice almost dying, barely audible even to his own ears, his brow resting upon the transparent surface, “afraid?”

Silence and rapid beating of his heart.

“Are you?”

Is he?

What does it mean to be afraid?

“I just wished to…”

I’m sorry, Joachim.

“I’m sorry”.

“Jürgen…”

”I’m sorry”.

He throws the window open, gasping for breath, taking in the fresh air and darkness.

“I’m sorry”.

Gary. I’m sorry…

“Jürgen…”

“Don’t call me again, Lothar”, placating and soft, apologetic, reasoning and gentle. “Don’t…”

“Jürgen, don’t…”

“Don’t call me, I won’t answer…” He takes a breath and there is not enough air, never enough.

“Don’t call me, Lothar, there’s nothing good to come out of it.”

“Jürgen, don’t…”

”I’m sorry”.

I’m sorry, Joachim.

“I’m sorry”.

“Jürgen…”

”I’m sorry”.

I’m sorry.

Joachim, so sorry.

And the phone slips from his fingers and falls, falls down, and shatters over the pavement, and the sound hits him with the force of a gunshot.

And he wishes it was sunlight.

And he wishes he was in London.

And the air is just too thick to breathe.

***

And then he opens his eyes.

***

 

**Lothar**

He dials the number again and again there is no answer. Just a sequence of long beeps, and then the line disconnects with a click. Again.

And again he starts to dial, knowing full well that the result is going to be the same.

And it is.

He listens to the long beeps till they stop, and then just looks at the phone in his hand dejectedly.

And once again he starts dialing.

_'Don't call me, I won't answer.'_

And true to his word, Jürgen doesn't answer the numerous calls, and he still hasn’t resorted to using the payphone because it’ll be too much like cheating, though Jürgen probably won’t answer to the unknown number as well.

_‘Don’t call me, Lothar, there’s nothing good to come out of it.’_

Oh, he could have argued with that, the point being – there’s nothing good in it all anyway. He could have argued that he’s not waiting for anything at all (and he’s not, certainly not), and that there’s no harm in a simple call, and he’s really misdialed that time and was surprised himself when he’s heard his voice on the other end. He would have argued – if only Jürgen wasn’t speaking with himself and not with him.

_‘Were you afraid?’_

The line disconnects again. And he still feels the dull pain, and the pain is not his.

Oh, he’s been through this before. More times that he cares to remember, and one thing he really doesn’t want is to start all over again.

Whatever are Jürgen problems, whatever is scaring Jürgen – it’s none of his business, and no matter if he ever wished otherwise or not, it never was. What does it have to do with him? Jürgen has Völler to talk to, and Löw to kiss it better, and may they and everyone who wants solve Jürgen’s problems to everyone’s satisfaction, and he wants nothing to do with whatever it is that is troubling him. Whatever scares Jürgen so much that his voice is catching in his throat. Whatever is haunting Jürgen so that he is willing to talk even to Lothar Matthäus of all people.

_‘Were you afraid?’_

Oh God. How he hates himself in such moments.

And yes, he is afraid. For Jürgen.

He wishes once again that he didn’t care.

***

 

**Jürgen**

 

Just to think that all of this started with just one bad dream.

He knows that what is happening to him lately has a name - 'nervous breakdown'. With the pressures of living in a 'hostile environment' (as Klaus put it), being a coach of Germany's leading club and as such being scrutinized by the press, fans an officials alike he was expecting just that sooner or later - though he'd prefer it to be as late as possible.

Apparently he's getting old and fragile since three months does it for him now. With some sort of masochistic pleasure he reflects that right upon accepting the job he's though of hiring a psychologist all for himself, some well-qualified shrink to explain him every time what's going on in his own mind. He'd definitely do with it now.

He's had one really bad dream, the sort where you are hurt and depressed and wake up feeling similarly hurt and depressed – and it drags on till you forget that you've dreamed up your own problems. Just one dream and no reason for feeling the way he feels now.

So in the dream he's had he was awfully unhappy because of one wrong choice he's made in his life. Wrong choice, he agrees even now, but all the same, the decision was made, lamented, deemed necessary by both him and Gary, and they both were supposed to move on. Maybe it was too optimistic to think that they will manage, but apart from rare lapses they've done pretty well.

And then he's had a dream, and since then nothing is the same.

No, he doesn't want to come back and choose once more – he'd still leave London with Debbie anyway if he was ever allowed to do so. Been there many times, thought about it over and over too many times. One thing he would never, ever regret is his marriage.

But everything else just seems so pointless. There is his family, there is his work, and only one thing makes him wonder - why there are so many relationships that surround him.

And he doesn't want it. He doesn't want to be involved with those who don't matter. Debbie matters. So does Gary. Others?

On the spur of a moment he's told Lothar to never call him anymore, and only then he's realized how right he was to do so. Freeing himself, letting loose of the part of his past, setting Lothar free from their common past as well – and he feels himself better for it, lighter, as if some burden is released. One of the strands tying him to the ground is cut, and he's a bit more ready to fly free.

Lothar doesn't stop calling though. In fact, these weeks he's called more often than in last six years. Which is strange, but he can't summon enough interest to care – so he just puts it out of mind and doesn't answer the phone.

Joachim's obvious happiness, possessive streaks and declarations of love get similar reaction – as if he's unable to do any more. Polite interest, faint trace of joy for seeing Joachim in great mood, pleasure for being able to do that to a lover, and then nothing. It doesn’t touch him really, but then again, nothing does. Joachim is happy – well, good for him. But maybe he himself would be better off without Joachim and his happiness.

This thought, when it appeared for the first time, scared the wits out of him. Leaving Joachim? Breaking the relationship and going on without the man – because he realizes that ‘let’s still be friends’ won’t apply in their case? No, he couldn’t possibly do this, he couldn’t… Joachim is too dear to him, too important to lose, to live without. He can’t break whatever it is that is going on between them, because it’s too large a part of his life, of himself.

But then, why not? Whispers something inside his mind. And he tried to imagine life without constantly having Joachim at his side – God, it was tough… More than four years together, friendship, trust, love, he’s so used to this so at first the possibility of losing Joachim is too foreign a concept to imagine.

Then the novelty wears off, and the fear with it. Suddenly it becomes not so huge, just a trivial matter – one more relationship to dissolve into the stream of time, contact vanishing from a phone book, memories crippling round the edges… It could definitely happen. He’s tried to imagine life without Joachim and it was… No, not better. But – lighter. Easier in a way. Without hiding, without fear of being discovered, without lying to the family and piling excuse upon excuse to find time to meet… And without unexplained jealousy and scenes and without feeling himself a traitor every time he’s looking into Gary’s eyes. And he knows that he could do this.

And then he’s scared himself for the second time – when he suddenly thought that he may do this.

He’s afraid to think about it further – so far. But maybe he will in time, and he’s having a suspicion that he already knows what his decision will be.

“Daydreaming or stargazing?” The familiar voice cuts into his thoughts unexpectedly, startling him.

“There are no stars yet”, he retorts before lifting his head, and only then the identity of the other man registers fully and he manages a weak smile. “Hi Lothar”.

Matthäus nods and puts his sunglasses he was holding in the pocket. “Daydreaming it is then”.

“Who said I was…”

“You’ve almost collided with me and I had to step back, you didn’t even notice, now I know you’re not holding me in particularly high regard but unless you think me an empty place I take your clumsiness as an indication that your thoughts are somewhere else”.

“I’m not…” He thinks better of replying to the remark about empty place, instead just shakes his head and looks at Lothar again. “You’re supposed to be in Israel”.

“And I was”. Lothar falls in stride with him, walking along the empty street. “Time difference works in my favor”.

“Something important here?”

“Sort of”. They continue walking in silence. The other’s presence is comfortingly unobtrusive, so he easily slips back into his thoughts, losing himself again in a problem that’s not really a problem, come to think of it…

Soft voice drags him back to reality.

“So what’s happened with your phone? Lost or broken?”

He stops. Blinks, trying to get his mind to work again. Frowns.

“My phone?”

“You’re not answering the calls.”

“Yes, I don’t”.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve decided so. Why?” He snaps.

Lothar folds his arms across his chest. “Because”. Small pause, two or three seconds. “If you suddenly stop talking to me it concerns me, don’t you think?”

He laughs.

It’s the best joke he’s heard in a while – not because of the words themselves but because of who said them. It’s something that he’d expect to hear from Guido. But Matthäus? Complaining that he… That he stopped talking to him. ‘Suddenly’.

He laughs and doesn’t even try to stop himself. Even though it is extremely impolite and borderline rude to laugh someone in the face, Lothar is getting what he’s set himself up to. Lothar obviously realizes it too – he’s almost uncomfortable for a moment, maybe regretting that he’s taken the sunglasses off, but strangely Lothar doesn’t say anything.

“No”, he says when the laughter at last has subsided. “What is strange in me not talking to you?”

“What isn’t?”

“Now I have to explain myself to you?”

“Maybe you can try – for a change”.

“And what will be the reason?” He’d have tried to keep his voice low if there were people around, but the street is still relatively empty so he doesn’t bother.

And Lothar just watches him.

“What scared you so?” The question is asked in such a gentle tone that he is left to wonder how many times today Lothar is going to stun him with something he says or does.

At a loss for words, he doesn’t know how to answer. Scared – yes, he is, but how does he explain to Matthäus of all people about the dream and two people that he loves, and how frightening it is – to love and to be loved.

“It’s not your business”, simple statement sums everything up. 

“It isn’t”, agrees Lothar, ever so softly.

They walk a bit more. He struggles to say something. Some retort or well-veiled insult should be appropriate. But the silence is so much better than talking.

“You’ve said you’ve had a nightmare”, Lothar keeps his voice neutral. “Then you’ve told me not to call you, since that day I’m struggling to find some sort of logic here”. 

“There is none, don’t bother”. The logic was there, but explaining it to someone will take too much effort, and he’s never even tried to understand it himself. And Lothar is the last one who should speak about logic, especially after his appearance here today.

Then Lothar touches his hand. 

“It was strange to hear you so distressed, and you know, it’s not a problem if you don’t want to talk to me, but how you’ve said that – I had to wonder if everything is alright with you”. When he looks in Lothar’s eyes, they’re deep and their darkness is soft. It is vaguely comforting – the feeling of the other’s hand on his sleeve, dark eyes in front of him, and something about the fact that Lothar – of all people – seems to care. “I just…”

The tires squeak, the car stops a couple of meters ahead of them, and Joachim – unexpectedly – emerges.

Joachim. Dark hair, black overcoat, he looks like a raven. There’s an angry air about him, something in his stride that betrays a barely contented annoyance.

He’s startled and maybe because of it the shudder runs through him.

And Lothar squeezes his hand. And holds it.

Not trying to shake it off, he makes a step forward, closer to Joachim. But Löw already isn’t looking at him.

It’s between the other two now. They glare at each other, and he, caught between them, feels himself suddenly become transparent, so intense are the looks two men share.

Then Lothar releases his hand and smiles at Joachim. It’s not a pleasant smile.

“Talk to you later”, it’s loud enough for Joachim to hear, and judging by expression he’s heard it alright. Lothar’s smile turns almost gleeful. Then he turns and walks away.

He looks at his lover, and the angry stare is now directed at him.

In two strides Joachim comes up to him, grabs him by the shoulder and kisses full on the lips. It’s short and angry, but it’s there, on the street for everyone with eyes to see. And he’s not sure at the moment if it concerns Joachim at all.

“I was looking for you”, the words are clipped.

He sighs and thinks ‘here we go again’. He so doesn’t want to fight…

“I’m sorry, Joachim”.

So sorry…

***

Not so long ago he’s had a dream.

Subconscious impulses sometimes create such strange patterns that the meaning is lost. Maybe it was the case here, or maybe his mind just tried to tell him that he’s messed up his life a big time – though if it’s the latter it’s nothing he doesn’t know already. 

Now being out of control is the hardest part. It’s easy when it’s about managing the football club – tell the players off, make some rotations, argue with Uli and smile at the cameras, and the rest is up to circumstances. That’s how he always operates – do all you can do and be happy with it.

He’s started to deal with his relationship, trying to do it the same way. Oh, how magnificently did he fail.

***

_When they were standing in front of each other, he thought for the first time that Lothar may actually care about something that is happening to him. It was a strange indeed concept, but what was he supposed to think when it was Matthäus who was looking at him and asking if something was wrong…_

_Or maybe he’s imagined it out of self-pity, and though it was understandable he’s laughed at himself and told himself to get a grip – and followed the advice later, but only after dealing with Joachim._

_Joachim always was handsome, and the anger that made his eyes sparkle was adding something that was needed to make him beautiful. They were sitting in a hotel room – after this kiss in the plain sight and somewhat strained ride to this place, and they were speaking. About things, about players, about news, and laughing at the anecdotes they were sharing._

_Jogi told him about Olli’s new whim – he knew about it but still laughed. Jogi spoke at length about Flick and the friendship they share. He was smiling throughout the tale._

_Whatever possessed him, but he’s asked suddenly: “Do you know that Flick knows about us?”_

_Jogi nodded._

_“Yes. He’s told me. Don’t worry, with him we are safe”._

_He smiled, relieved, and watched Joachim sip his coffee from red porcelain cup. And then the dark eyes narrowed suddenly, and there was a hint of menace in the next question Jogi asked him:_

_“How do *you* know?”_

_He’s never lied to his friends, and he’s seen no need to do so now so his answer, “Lothar’s told me”, fell easily from his lips._

_And then Joachim put a cup on the plate with the loud bang and stood up, towering over him._

***

It takes some using to living in Germany again. There are things, annoying little things that are different and little nuances he’s forgotten about being at the other side of the ocean…  
In America he’s felt himself a foreigner, but didn’t mind it – he was a foreigner. Even his name was so strange for people he’s sometimes had to transcribe it, and if he was doing something that wasn’t common – be it the way he drank coffee or the turn of the phrase he’s used, everything was written off on him being ‘this strange German’ and taken as such.

In Germany, after four months of living here constantly, he feels himself helplessly American and yes, foreign. Even looking at his watch he’s carefully counting what time it is ‘at home’ – meaning his Californian house on a beach as such. And he’s speaking English at home, though with children they now talk only in German.

He’s still, after so many years in America, speaks with UK accent.

Coming back to Germany, he was happy. He’s always loved it here, and never mind that pasta and red wine is more to his taste than beer and sausage, he’s always felt himself German. But he’s forgotten about the people here – he’s forgotten about the main reason he’s left.

He’s always hated when someone is prying on him and always shielded his personal life from everyone – and after so many years it’s still as hard to do in Germany as it was then. The neighbors consider it their duty to find out everything about anyone, be it constant questioning or outright spying, he has two of this sort here and keeping peaceful relationship with them is a strain in itself. And being related to ‘Bayern’ means that everyone claims to have a right on learning all the latest news about your personal life.

He hates it.

He hates it so much that once he’s really regretted coming back.

But it's not the point and it surely doesn’t excuse his naiveté in dealing with Joachim.

***

_He should have started thinking earlier, but his mind was elsewhere. Really not on Joachim’s question – ah yes, he was contemplating possible squad for the next match, so the answer was given without second thought – and it means he’s got what he deserved._

_Joachim was yelling at him._

_It looked comical more than anything else, he’s thought and scared himself with this line of thinking. And lowered his head because he was afraid that he’ll laugh out loud._

_It was surreal. They were in a room in the motel, he was sitting on a plush chair and Joachim was standing over him and demanding, demanding – mostly about Lothar. ‘Why are you speaking with Matthäus?’ (‘Lothar’, corrected he to himself), ‘Why are you meeting with Matthäus?’ (I’m not, I can’t forbid him to come here if he wants), ‘Why are you such big friends with Matthäus?’ (‘Lothar, his name is Lothar’ – to himself again), ‘Are you sleeping with Matthäus?’, and on and on and on… He was counting the flowers on a tablecloth – little pink and red flowers with five petals each, fifty in each square, eighty on the border of each square. Probably – he’s later thought – he was hoping that Joachim will get his jealousy and anger out of his chest and then they’ll be able to talk. He was feeling nothing. Some amusement maybe – at the reason for this scene mostly. And he was tired._

_He’s remembered the night they’ve spent before the friendly matches of their teams and how beautiful it was to be so close together. He’s fixed his gaze on the little spot on Joachim’s black turtleneck shirt because the bright flowers were tiresome._

_He’s tried to speak once, but Joachim’s angry ‘now you be silent!’ stopped him. Joachim was trying to insult him obviously, he’s shrugged trying to keep his calm – it seemed to anger the man even more. It seemed that Joachim was going for a confrontation. All good and well, but he wasn’t going to play it._

_‘I’m sorry, Joachim’, that was what he said finally._

_And that was it._

***

This night he’s dreamed about London. 

Not the place itself actually – there was Marienplatz in this dream in front of a Tower, but in dreams stranger things happen. And he doesn’t remember more of the dream than that. Just that everything was fine in it.

In the morning he’s drank his espresso while Debbie was busy with children. She came to the kitchen when he was putting the cup in the sink. Not saying anything, she’s smiled and put a plate with toasts in front of him. He’s shaken his head no, she’s smiled even wider, took the jam from the fridge and asked him if he wants something more to eat.

She was wearing jeans and light-blue sweater, her hair pinned high with the large clip. Laughing, she asked about his phone constantly ringing – is there a stalker or he’s got himself a side-job as a secretary? He’s drank another cup of coffee and told her about Martin’s early call. She’s never was an expert in football-team-management, but as a rule he’s told her everything that was going on because she always liked to know first. ‘The night has a thousand eyes’ – that’s the melody she starts whistling every time he tries to tell her that it’s ‘too boring’ or ‘maybe not the most interesting subject’.

The stalker’s name is still Lothar – two calls in the morning, one during the day and one more late in the evening, as if saying ‘goodnight’, and next morning it begins anew. He still doesn’t answer but for some reason doesn’t change the number. It’s almost like a game.

 

Later that day he’s circling around the mall, busy with getting her her favorite perfume, which is always a complicated task for him, and almost doesn’t notice the woman who is looking at him with a surprise – he reacts to her half-hushed ‘oh’ and lifts his head, and she clasps her hand to the mouth. Did he mishear or did she really say the name – ‘Bernd’? She smiles at him apologetically and leaves, clearly having taken him for someone else and visibly shocked by it – disappointed or scared, wonders he idly while the saleswoman is wrapping the package expertly. 

The funniest thing is that she reminds him of someone – he knows her. Obviously a passing acquaintance and probably a long time ago, but where… when… what is her name...   
A moment’s thought, and then it’s work, work, work all over again.

Miro and Tim are holding hands. He sees it clearly from his place in the bus. Miro is looking out of the window. Boro has his eyes closed, maybe sleeping or maybe listening to the music in his iPod. Two grown men, holding hands in the half-full bus. How the times are changing…

He almost always was sitting with Teddy in the front row, and Gary usually in the back – ‘captain’s privilege’, went the joke. They never held hands – both knew well that reaction to it won’t be pleasant and the jokes will never stop. These two are lucky now, nobody pays attention anymore to such little things and even if there is… something… between them, nobody will care as long as they don’t kiss in front of everyone.

***

_‘You should be’, hissed Joachim before finally falling silent – catching his breath or maybe just because he’s run out of words._

_He was sorry. He didn’t want to upset Joachim and even less he wanted an argument. Joachim wasn’t asking his opinion though. No more than a minute of blessed silence, and then another question in sarcastic tone:_

_‘Are you sleeping with Matthäus or is it love already?’_

_For him it was enough – long past enough actually, the absurdity of all this scene beating even the ugliness of it. And it was Joachim, the man he always considered the most reasonable and consistent person in his life. Absurdity._

_‘If I speak with someone it doesn’t mean this someone is my lover, Joachim’, he said in his most reasonable tone, suspecting that it won’t work._

_In the next minute of silence the memory came to him – what he felt when Lothar squeezed his hand briefly, as if encouraging. As if Lothar knew what is waiting for him when they’ll stay alone with Joachim._

_‘What is it between you and Lineker?’_

_The question was unexpected and it’s taken him two or three seconds to process the abrupt change of subject – or object? – before he smiled and replied, again naively said the truth simply: ‘Nothing’._

_And then it was calm, frosty Joachim’s voice telling him to get out of his life, it was his own surprise at feeling relieved while replying ‘As you will’. Joachim closed the door with a bang on his way out. He’s taken his jacket from the rack, paid for the room and drove home. The music in the car was soft, he was thinking about the schemes they were discussing with Martin, the trees becoming gold was a wonderful sight…_

_And he was feeling disturbed by not feeling disturbed about their fallout and wondered at some point if something is wrong with him._

***

Next morning he’s sitting on the plane that is flying to London, watching the movie because the sleep doesn’t come. 

It always becomes easier when he is here. Just seeing this streets, posters on the walls, cars moving in ‘wrong’ direction, busy crowds in Heathrow, even being stuck in a traffic while sitting in a cab is already comforting.

Gary doesn’t change. Never does. He becomes older, sure, years don’t pass without a trace – but he doesn’t change. Gary is forever, he always was here and always will be.

They drink juice and eat croissants, even though it’s so un-English, and they talk.

There is a fresh issue of ‘Guardian’ on the table in front of Gary. 

“I’m tired”, he says suddenly.

Gary looks at him, as if measuring him with his eyes. Gary knows that he’s not talking about the flight and the stress of work, but about the apathy that is settled somewhere deep inside him.

Slight nod, gesture of the hand. 

“It will be alright”.

Gary looks straight at him.

 

He’s walking because he’s overcome with the desire to move. Wandering aimlessly around the center of the town trying to kill time before it’s time to leave for Germany again. 

He’s still uneasy, unsettled, and it hurts. He was expecting it to be like always – just one look of Gary’s eyes, shared laughter, some words, and everything will fall back to place. 

It did – when they were sitting in front of each other. But now Gary’s left, went to run some errands, and he’s due to leave soon himself – and he’s alone in London now.

He loves London. It plays to something inside him, and here he feels himself at home, at peace.

He still does, but for the first time the inner turmoil he’s brought with him is too strong, and even London can’t shield him from it.

***

_‘You get out of my life from now on’ – that was what Joachim said to him._

_Like a spear through his heart, piercing in a second. He’s unable to breathe. Then he wants to answer but his lips are cold – and he can’t speak. Frozen in silence. Joachim._

_Joachim._

_Leaving him._

_Joachim._

_Joachim._

_Leaving._

_He can’t speak._

_It hurts so much that he can only lower his head an stay silent._

***

In his dreams it was like that.

In his dreams it happened with the fitting dramatic flair, like this breakup deserved. Not with the half-amused smile on his face and strange feeling of relief that settled inside him from the moment Joachim started the confrontation.

He wishes he reacted properly but he didn’t. The trip to London was weighing on his mind much more than the spectacular fallout with friend-turned-lover, one of the closest people to him. But the more he thinks about Joachim, the less important the whole ordeal seems. Just another minor disagreement.

Minor – but Jogi told him to get out of his life.

‘Jogi’?

He catches himself on it not for the first time. ‘Jogi’, friend and confidant, not ‘Joachim’ – lover.

 

He always feel a sort of vertigo-like disturbance returning from England to Europe. As if cars moving in different direction make his head spin and his lungs are aching for typical London smog. 

Then he settles back in into the routine and the way of life he is leading here. Driving Jonathan to school before work and playing football with him, baking cakes for Debbie. Calling Stuttgart every day – twice a day? and also being polite and socializing with neighbors. 

When Debbie leads Jogi – Joachim – into the room, he is genuinely surprised and pleased. Just a minute ago Lothar has called and he again didn’t pick up the phone but smiled nonetheless. And next they were sitting with Joachim and drinking coffee.

And oh how he didn’t want to talk about their relationship suddenly. How was he to explain Joachim that he…

 

Joachim.

Dearest.

Dearest friend, most loved friend, gentle and strong, free-willed, adventurous by nature, always knowing what he wants, always having a goal before himself. His Joachim, his lover. 

The one he loves, definitely does.

How was he to explain to Joachim that he…

***

 

**Joachim**

 

Debbie opens the door.

She looks pleased to see him but for a bit of annoyance, the smile that says ‘ah, great to see you here’ and at the same time it’s ‘ah, I’m not dressed up and my makeup is not finished to welcome the guest’, and curious ‘what are you doing here unannounced’ hiding in the expression of her face. 

He himself is not sure what he is doing here – not anymore. 

She greets him and invites him to the house, her movements somewhat rushed, as if she’s embarrassed about children’s toys that are scattered all over the carpet and Jürgen’s shirt thrown over the shelf. 

She’s chatting merrily, inquiring about usual things. He can do nothing but smile back and keep the small talk going while she invites him to sit and offers coffee.

 

He kept calling Jürgen the whole day yesterday. He dialed the number over and over, and every single time he’s got the most annoying ever voice telling him, that Jürgen is out of reach. And though he’s never thought much about superstitions, it still was freaking him out.

‘Out of reach’  
‘Out of reach’  
‘Out of reach’

He swore at the phone and kept dialing but lost patience and just turned the damn thing off. He’s thought about calling in the morning but couldn’t bear the thought of hearing the damned ‘out of reach’ for one more time – and he wasn’t going to let Jürgen out of his reach.

 

Even the prospect of seeing Debbie wasn’t enough to stop him from doing another silly thing. And here he was, listening to her.

He was still explaining to her which coffee he’d prefer when Jürgen joined them. Appeared soundlessly at the doorway. Smiled at his wife, a soundless greeting passing between them.  
Said ‘Hello Jogi’ – in cheerful tone that indicated that the man he was saying ‘hello’ to is his best friend. Sat down in front of him and asked Debbie if she minds making two cups of coffee instead of one.

 

He knows Jürgen well enough to understand that he’ll gain nothing from his visit here.   
He was going to talk. Really talk about things. Apologize – yes, there was that. Ask Jürgen why he lied to him about the relationship with Lineker and more importantly make him admit to the state of this relationship as of now. And then…

Then decide, would be the logical course of action. But there was logic and there were feelings and he knew he was somehow going to find something that will allow him to forgive Jürgen – but first he was going to talk.

 

But now he knows that he should have dedicated this day to work. Because Jürgen is smiling.

The way this conversation is bound to go is playing out in his mind. ‘I’m sorry’, he will say; ‘Everything is fine, don’t worry’, will be the answer, ‘I still want to continue this relationship’, he will suggest, ‘Sure’, Jürgen will answer – and no way to ask about anything really important. He’s seen Jürgen doing it before – shutting everything out, so the opponent will be making a fool of himself just by touching the unpleasant subject. The tactics is in full force now.

 

He’s still got what he wanted – well, not what he wanted, but at least it was something.

 

Jürgen was sipping his coffee and watching the sparkles play across the tablecloth from a polished spoon. Jürgen has already assured him that everything is alright and fine and great many times over, and denied having a lover – his anger peaked at the obvious lie though he’s managed to hold it in check - but at his question about further relationship Jürgen just shrugged.

‘I don’t know, Jogi’, he was speaking softly. ‘I think we need a break for now’.

 

There was laughter from some other room – a woman and a girl, wife and daughter. And a scent of cinnamon and vanilla, freshly baked cakes. A worn-looking teddy-bear on the table, coloring book opened on a picture of Superman, empty CD cases on the floor. Home, personal space of another man – and how he hated it because knowing that he has no place here was bitter – he shouldn’t have been here and Jürgen shouldn’t have been here too. 

He hated the place.

‘I think we need to… rest… rest a bit, take a time off and see if… Jogi, I don’t know if I can do it anymore, with Debbie being here so close… I need time, you need…’, the last was cut off after Jürgen threw a glance in his direction and probably has seen it on his face, ‘We just need a bit of time’.

‘So be it’, it was a strange way to answer, so much pathos in it and standing up with dramatic flare was a good addition. But there was Jürgen’s smile, undisturbed and calm, like a shield around him. He’s felt like he has run into the wall.

He felt this wall crashing on him.

***

 

**Jürgen**

 

_‘I’m sorry. Joachim’._

_He’s repeated it more than he can count in last few weeks. He’ll have to do it again and again – and again, and he is sorry. He is sorry to feel like he does._

_He was sitting in the soft armchair and looking at Joachim, his beloved friend, his beautiful lover. So much feeling inside, so intense._

_But how was he to explain to this man, to the one he’s never lied to – how to speak about the relief he feels since the last argument – definitely the last, he thinks with amusement – and how to say that he doesn’t know if he wants to continue anything?_

_He’s grabbed at the most convenient excuse possible and felt ashamed to use Debbie like this. He couldn’t say that he is willing to go on because – because – because…_

_He didn’t want?_

_Too hard to comprehend. Years of feelings, years of happiness with the man who came to mean so much, who came to be almost the closest friend, who deserved his words, ‘I love you’, and the words were oh so true even now, even now. No, no, he was afraid to let it end. He didn’t want, he couldn’t want it – because life without Joachim was something from the ‘unimaginable’ category._

***

Unimaginable. Joachim’s voice on the phone, e-mails again and again. Gentle touches and barely visible smiles. ‘I love you’ – answered with ‘I love you’.

He’s never felt more for Joachim than he did these days.

So many feelings, so many mixed emotions. If only he could explain it all to the man. How his heart breaks a little every time the phone is ringing – and it’s only Lothar, not… Not his Joachim. 

If only he could explain to himself what is it that he wants he wouldn’t be feeling so miserable, he supposes. But there’s one small problem – he is not sure.

He doesn’t know anymore what he wants. So he calls Gary and talks with him, almost tells him about what’s going on – but it doesn’t bring peace.

For the first time in his life it doesn’t help him settle his feelings. And instead of calming down, another confusing thought crawls in his mind. Like something is missing, something, very important something, and it’s all because he talked with and the peace didn’t come.

 

He wants to go home suddenly. Home – means back to the ocean’s shore, running along the beach in California and feeling the breeze on his face and taste of salt on his lips.

Coward’s way out, he knows, but he wants to go home.

And the man in the mirror is still smiling at him, undisturbed by what’s going on. This man is happy and settled, with nothing bringing him out of his comfort zone. He’s joyous and polite, his laughter is often heard and everyone around can’t help but smile answering to his greeting. 

***

And then it happens.

In the news he sees Kevin.

When he was going to make a call to tell Kevin he’s not part of the team , back then, more than two years ago, he was feeling himself a killer. The worst part of his job. And if he only knew how hard it will be…

In his mind he knew that he was right. It helped. But not much.

And once more it’s Kevin.

It’s Joachim clad in black, announcing the decision – and the decision is final. Apologies were given – and taken, but too late. Over and out. Over. Everything is over in a second.

The finality of it – that was what strikes him so hard. A couple of words, and the international career of one player is over. And all it took was a couple of words.

Kevin came back once – but there was no declaration of retirement from the team back then. And it’s not about Kevin.

It’s not about declarations even – Lothar has come back.

But how easy it is to make things end! Just a couple of words.

And he doesn’t want him and Joachim to end like that. So he picks up the phone.

***

He’s called Joachim that day. There was no answer. Once and twice and then again. He’s waited some time – half an hour was all his patience allowed him, and called again. Jogi’s – damn, Joachim’s! – phone was off. He’s sent the message: ‘call me when you have time’. Then sent another one: ‘we have to talk’, cringed at the wording but sent anyway. 

He needed to talk.

He didn’t want years of deepest friendship and the romance to end with the cracking finality of one well-constructed phrase, it was too hard to take, too unimaginable.

It was the decision. 

He’s made it – decided what he wants. And not surprisingly the decision was to stay with Joachim. They’ll talk. He’ll find out what is bothering his lover. He’ll listen and he’ll answer the best he can. And then everything will go on.

He’s waited for the call and tried to call again once, but the phone was still off. He was restless and felt himself growing tired of waiting.

But the man in the mirror was still smiling at him and everyone else. This man always hid his feelings behind the most charming smile.

***

The phone stayed silent throughout the day. Silence was driving him mad, making him think and think and think and doubt every decision he’s made. He picked up the phone again and put it back in his pocket – there was no use. He didn’t want to come home in this state, explain himself to Debbie and play with children, waiting for the call all the time…

He went wandering – sightseeing it could be called except that he didn’t see anything really – wasn’t looking. Just working out some of the nervous energy. The thought that he should be devoting more of his force and concentration to work came to him surely – but he managed to shrug it off.

On an impulse he’s taken the phone again and called Lothar. He himself didn’t know why he did it, but the result was the same.

Lothar’s phone was off.

 

He came home just in time for evening meal that day.

He’s turned the TV on and children started arguing about the channel – Laila winning as always. His only thought was not to make Debbie worry, so he’s eaten everything – roastbeef it was, but he didn’t pay much attention to the taste. And maybe added too much Ketchup.

Debbie went for a walk with children and he’s stayed at home – riding the bicycle just wasn’t so inviting a perspective right now. 

The phone rang when he was standing at the window looking at the trees outside and trying to make himself concentrate on work.

It was Lothar.

Not his usual time – it usually was closer to midnight. He’s wanted to speak with Joachim, but Joachim was either busy or didn’t want to talk – same difference in the end. He was in no mood for talking but picked up the phone anyway because silence was too much and he’s wanted to speak with someone.

Oh the irony of it all – this ‘someone’ being Lothar Matthäus of all people.

***

_“What’s wrong with you?” Lothar asked him bluntly._

_“How you know that there is something wrong?”_

_“Will you be calling me if you are in your right mind?”_

_”Maybe I’m just tired of my phone constantly ringing all day through?”_

_Brief hesitant pause. “Are you?”_

_“No”, fell from his lips before he thought better of it. No, he wasn’t._

_And Lothar laughed. With obvious relief._

***

He’s slept well that night – and didn’t have dreams. And woke up really rested in the morning. Sang a merry tune while in the shower. Threw his keys up in the air before running down the stairs.

And there was rain, and the air smelled of autumn. He opened the collar of his jacket and enjoyed the wind in his face. It was cold but not cold enough to make it unpleasant. And a golden leaf plastered itself to his car’s window.

He hasn’t been in such a light mood for quite some time and now he was enjoying it. Not thinking about complicated matters. And not thinking about the reason for such cheerful mood.

And there was no reason actually. Surely the small talk with Lothar wasn’t a reason, and nothing else came to mind…

If he told Joachim about it – how angry the man would be! So he’s sensibly decided not to share these thoughts with anyone.

 

Only the next day he’s got an e-mail from Joachim. An apology for staying silent, somewhat cocky explanation of being angry and therefore resorting to childishness and also the suggestion that it’s not the type of conversation that is situated for the phone and so another apology and request for a meeting… later.

Perfectly valid points, thought he absently – they were busy with Martin at the moment. He’s written a reply. Later – ok, later. He found out he wasn’t in a hurry anymore.

In fact, he could understand no more what drove him to try and solve everything at once in the first place. 

Later. Later will be good. The more time to relax, to think for both of them – the better.

***

This ‘later’ appeared to be dragging on and on though. He’s called Joachim once – worried, scared for him after learning about the Frings mess, and got plenty of assurances that everything is alright and fine. (He wasn’t too ashamed of checking on this statement and called Olli – even through the phone he could catch Olli cringing but still got the confirmation of Jogi’s words. Yes, everything was indeed alright). 

Jogi called him once too – just to speak, like usually, they’ve spent some forty minutes on the phone. And that was it.

Maybe it meant that they will be alright. He surely hopes so.

***

 

**Lothar**

 

Wind is blowing across the streets. Rippling the water in the river, tearing the leaves off the branches, tearing the mist apart. Windy days mean the sky is almost clear, golden spears of the church glistening high into the grey sky. Wind is blowing, cold and fresh, carrying the wrapping papers over the pavements, toying with the flags flying over the rooftops.

 

Her face is beautiful. The definition of beauty that he's still waiting to see in any other woman – and knows that he never will. 

She is beautiful, even in the flour-stained apron and kettle in hand. The woman he loves. Always loved and will be. No matter...

"Younger than your daughters!"

"Only one of them", he's enjoying the exchange, sitting there in the corner of a kitchen and doing his best to keep out of the way.

"Only?!" 

"Should it prevent me from living with her?"

She's silent. Busy with the vegetables and maybe trying to pretend she hadn't heard. Or maybe just thinking about what to answer. He knows that he's righ, but at the same time she is too, and he's not going to deny it – but not going to admit it in her face. Like always.

Her tone is laced with contempt – directed at whom? 

"I don't know what happened to you in Italy, but since then – I don't, I don't know. What are you thinking... But God, are you listening at all, what do you care?"

"I am still your son. And it's my life, shouldn't I be able to live it as I want?" He's reasoning calmly.

"My son... In all my life I've never thought that one of my sons will make a mockery of himself". 'And thank God for Wolfgang', he reads on her pursed lips. In her half-turned face, in the silence left by the words not spoken. Thank God for Wolfgang, their model son, their pride, perfection personified, joy to his ageing parent's hearts. Serious and reliable, family man Wolfgang.

His mother always loved him over Wolfgang. He was and still is her child, her boy. When in childhood he cried after hurting his knee she's kissed him like she never did with his brother. He already knew back then that he's better. He feels it now again while she's dumping chopped carrots into the frying pan, still silent, still her lips forming a thin line – and even like this she is beautiful, his mother. And how she would love for him to be like Wolfgang and not have all neighbors gossip over him again and again...

"May I bring her here?"

She drops the fork into the sink harshly, turns to him and then further to the left, to see her own reflection in a polished surface of the fridge and with angry gesture tucks the wayward strand of hair back under the clip. "When she'll be your wife – then sure", comes the answer he's expected. "Till then don't you dare even mentioning it".

"You want me to marry her?" Laughs he.

She starts chopping the onions with the knife – and her movements are quick, too quick...

 

The wind is blowing, cold wind, making him hide his hands in the pockets. Autumn wind, unpleasantly cold and dry, first hello from winter.

The turn of the key starts the ignition. Familiar road, familiar direction. Turn to the right, pass the building with the ornate facade and to the right again – and there's the highway.

For a minute – two – three – more – he contemplates the direction. Simple possibility – taking another familiar turn and driving another familiar road and in three hours there is München, and suddenly the wish to be there is irresistible, all-consuming, and he starts counting the turns... 

If only he wasn't old enough to realize what he is doing – how much easier it would be. Then he would have driven through München and arrived to the stadium, and came inside and said hello and asked for a time to talk... And maybe even made a fool of himself sitting on the high chair in the canteen and drinking coffee and looking in the blue eyes... 

But he passes the turn on speed and his grip on the wheel is steady. He's going home and not going to do another foolish thing.

He's not even going to call, though he could – and he knows even that now there will be an answer. And at the background – he knows it – he will hear Löw's voice and laughter, happy laughter of a lover, and by now he's finally become sensible enough to spare himself the pain.

Sometimes he thinks that he'd be better not knowing what's going on in Jürgen's life, but the minutes pass and regrets with them, and living without illusions is much easier in the end.

Eighteen years have passed, and he still loves. He’s just stopped waiting.

***

 

**Joachim**

 

And all is fair in love and war. Except when one turns into other.

Jürgen is unfazed by attempts at sarcasm – too hard, too unbending to be thrown off of what he was going to say even by the harshest of words. Even if he has enough grace to pale, to look almost ashamed…

“It’s not fair, Joachim”.

Jürgen’s face is drawn, tired, and he loves seeing him like this. Not the sunlit Californian smile, not the poster-happy grin that may or may not be real – but Jürgen, real Jürgen, his Jürgen, dizzy with jet-lag, pale under his tan, with small tired lines under his eyes, beautiful in his imperfection and with cracks in his armor he doesn’t bother to hide. He loves this Jürgen to the point where it hurts and beyond, cherishes and treasures this. Moments of vulnerability – just because they know each other too well and there’s no use pretending to be better, to feel better than you are. Those years ago he fell in love with the image, with beauty, brightest smile on Earth and unwavering strength of a leader. He loves – really, truly, deeply – loves the man behind the image, and every time he sees Jürgen as he is, he loves him more. And it is so good, so right – it hurts. To the point where it’s hard to fight the all-encompassing urge to hurt back.

 

“Love is not fair, they say.”

Jürgen just looks at him. Harsh, hard, contemplating and calculating. And doesn’t answer – and doesn’t ask.

And he in return doesn’t say more. Because he loves, and because he doesn’t need to remind himself of things he never forgets anyway. And because Jürgen will never ask and he will never elaborate any farther on why he asks about Gary. And Joachim will never tell him about that one night when Jürgen muttered a name in his sleep… He’s a coward and he doesn’t want to know, and he’s old enough to be able to accept it.

What is fair?

“Look at us”, Jürgen almost smiles – small, tired attempt at joviality, abandoned with a shake of his head. “Just look at us right now”.

And Jürgen is, as always lately, infuriatingly right.

“What isn’t fair? You say it isn’t fair that I love you?”

“I love you too, Joachim. You know that, right?”

Jürgen kisses him then.

Tired, yes. No other words to describe what they are now but tired. Tiredness in the touch of Jürgen’s lips, not a full kiss even, just a touch, a bit of warmth, a reassurance because it’s easier than fumbling for clumsy words and in the end is exactly the same. They are way past the point when bed is used as a palliative to all problems instead of sorting them out. They’ve tried it and failed and it almost broke them but ‘almost’ doesn’t count. They know better now, and this kiss is just a kiss, not an attempt to blackmail him into silence.

Not that he has anything more to say. Just ‘don’t leave’, but that would be stupid, because Jürgen doesn’t suggest anything of the sort. But when love was fair?

“Don’t leave me”, he says, and watches his beloved’s face contort momentarily and pale even more, and hears the uncharacteristically hushed “I’m not”.

That’s not fair, he knows. Worse in a way than kissing to shut up, but some things are better off not discussed. Like doubts that Jürgen tried to bring up and won’t try to do so again. It’s not easy to build up a courage for this for a second time, once is more than enough.

And if he’s not mistaken Jürgen looks almost relieved too.

What is fair in love?

***

 

**Jürgen**

 

The night is quiet.

The night is dark and unrestful. Though he is the one who should be feeling the jetlag it’s Joachim who fell asleep first. Went out like a light, actually. Quiet, unmoving, breathing softly, like he always sleeps. And save for his even, measured breathing, everything around is quiet. Quiet.

I love you, Joachim, but what the hell are we doing to each other?

It may well be that he is simply getting old. Jürgen the hero, Jürgen the savior, Jürgen the symbol of hope for the whole football country, Jürgen the captain and poster boy, fitting into these roles like they were made for him – maybe it’s just getting harder as the time passes.

It’s getting harder to win arguments not worth winning, not that he is trying. Not as he ever did try. And not as Joachim did, either. Having an argument without getting to a point of arguing is an art, and one they both are too good at. The only saving grace is that they understand each other at least enough to get a point anyway, without a shouting match. But that’s as easy as practicing telepathy with no talent for it whatsoever – in other words, that’s awfully hard.

I love you, Joachim, but what a mess we’ve made of it.

Guido would say that 50 years old is not 100 years old and there is still time to learn. And they’ll argue till they can’t stop laughing and then they’ll drink. And Gary… Gary.

And lying in bed with Joachim soundly asleep so close to him and thinking about Gary – that’s just all sorts of wrong. So he shakes off these thoughts – all of them. And thinks of a small party at Joachim’s that was such a lighthearted affair. Markus winking at him across the table, Flick’s unobtrusive and calming presence, Daniela in the kitchen, apron over her fuchsia dress. How they played poker and of course, as always, Joachim won. And how they celebrated it for all of three minutes before it was football all over again.

Daniela embraced him and kissed him on the cheek when they all said their goodbyes. He noticed how she looked at Joachim. He noticed that her eyes were not smiling. And he couldn’t find it in himself to care, because it was not his wife, not his choices and not his concerns.

And – not only he couldn’t find it in himself to care, he still can’t now, though he knows he should.

Or maybe he doesn’t even know it anymore. Maybe he really is too old for taking upon himself another’s guilty conscience. But even so he still can’t help feeling uneasy about it, no matter what. And that’s just another consequence of having a secret affair. Small price, for sure, but having a bout of insomnia and turning everything over and over again in his head hours after having another argument and almost splitting up – well, it all seems like a big deal right now.

The worst thing is that it’s nobody’s fault and there is no one to blame. Maybe the two of them for not being brave enough to talk over every little thing that is hanging between them. But does it really matter?

I love you, Joachim, but that’s not fair.

***

The morning is sunny and cold.

And he doesn’t know what’s going on with him.

Lothar knows, whispers an annoyingly quiet voice in the back of his mind. Lothar always seems to know, like he understands him better than he himself. One more thing that is somehow not fair.

And as if on cue, the phone starts to ring.

He imagines Joachim, even when Lothar’s unmistakable intonations leave no room for imagination. How Joachim is leaning out of the window, elbows on the windowpane risking the dirt getting on his immaculate shirt, cigarette between his fingers and glass of wine abandoned on the table. Joachim, deep in thought, caught alone in a very short moment just before he’ll be swept away by the noisy splendor of another function he was forced to attend – even though Joachim loves it and revels in being on public. Still, there was this moment of perfect stillness, thoughtful and quiet, the moment he himself broke, entering the room, calling Joachim by the name, stopping himself short from touching and making everything look inappropriate and awkward if someone else crushes upon them. Seeing Joachim check himself at the same time, seeing his smile – that was the pure joy.

And he has to snap himself out of this sudden memory because of silence on the other end of the line. Whatever Lothar was saying – he never caught a word of it, and apologizing would be even more awkward than admitting his moment of daydreaming.

They end up having a long conversation about nothing at all. Not even catching up on each other’s news, because why would they? Still, the words flow back and forth, still Lothar is making no pauses in his monologues, and still he can’t find a reason to hang up. And sure he has to ask Lothar if he thinks that life is fair, and sure Lothar answers that no, he doesn’t, and fair is not the word to be used. Not surprising, if one knows the story of Lothar’s private life – and, after all, everyone does.

Still, they keep talking about the same nonsense. Why?

He doesn’t care to think about it.

***

The afternoon is warm. The afternoon smells of spring and fresh wind. And Joachim is smiling – laughing, and Joachim is telling him off and laughing again – he smiles in return, even if some words sting. The main thing is that Joachim smiles, saying things like “Why would you be talking to Matthäus?” and “How is he calling you like that?”

He says it like he has a right to judge – and maybe he does.

That’s the everyday life as it is.

***

 

**Joachim**

 

“Are we still together?”  
Lifted eyebrow and a smile dancing in the sky-blue eyes.  
“But of course we are”.  
He needed to hear it said out loud.

 

It’s a curious question to ask, lying in bed with a lover after another round of mind-blowing sex. Even more strange because he has no idea what to say next.

And Jürgen is still looking at him, amused-questioning look on his face, a hint of teasing and good humor. And a gentle touch, fingers entwining with his.

 

“Do you love me?”

He asks it looking straight at Jürgen.

“Of course I do”.

Sincere answer without the slightest hesitation.

If he’s only noticed something, something… A pause, a moment’s thought, strange wording – but there was none of it. 

And that brought the relationship back on track.

 

Or did it? It depends… 

He wonders sometimes, if they are still lovers. That’s why he keeps asking questions.

 

“Do you have another lover?”

“I’m married, Jogi!”

He doesn’t share the laughter and Jürgen looks at him with a solemn expression, a stark contrast to the smile that was on his face a second ago.

“I don’t need anyone when I have you”.

Can it be that Jürgen is lying to him?

 

He wonders sometimes if everything can be even remotely close to where it was before… Before this summer, he puts the Final of Euro as a mark when everything went wrong – and can it be right again? 

 

“Were you lovers with Lineker?”

And it’s the only time Jürgen hesitates before answering. 

“Never”. One word with a wealth of meanings before it – and he knows he is supposed to explain why he’s asking this, but he can’t.

And Jürgen has a completely different mobile phone now. He notices it when the thing falls from the pocket of Jürgen’s jacket, discarded carelessly in the heat of passion.

And he wishes he could get hold on it.

 

And he wishes that Jürgen was supporting him without making him question what he is doing. 

And reading the newspaper he knows that it should be Jürgen saying the approving words. 

And such irony is that the man supporting him is Matthäus.

He wishes that Jürgen wouldn’t argue with him.

 

“Are you questioning my ability to run the team?”

“Never”.

Jürgen touches his arm briefly.

“You know that I never did from the moment we started working together – and I never will”.

Did he hear a ‘but’ in this answer? Or maybe he’s imagining it?

 

Or maybe he’s missing the point entirely.

 

“Are you happy?”

“I am”.

Can it be that he’s asking the wrong questions?

 

Can it be that there is something else, something that will explain everything, and he needs just one question, one certain thing to ask – and everything will fit into place like it should be?

 

“Is there something you regret?”

“Regret?”

“Some opportunity missed. Something you would’ve done differently if you’ve had a chance?”

“No”. Thoughtful and quiet, but with the same certainty in every word – just like Jürgen’s other answers. “No matter what, all the important decisions I’ve made still stand. I am a happy man”’.

And while the answer does fit the question it doesn’t seem right. Again.

 

Or maybe he’s still searching for a right question to ask.

And it’s not fair.

 

***

 

**Two**

 

In Moscow it rains, all night long the rain was drumming over the windows, and now the pavements are so wet they look like mirrors. And the air smells of autumn, of leaves and rain.

And the big city is moving, moving constantly before coming to a standstill in the peak of the rush-hour. The morning is grey, and heavy clouds are hanging above. And it rains still.

 

They collide into each other in the hall, and both are surprised though there's nothing unexpected about it. It was almost like a dance - avoiding each other while looking for a chance to meet, pretending that the other is not here while constantly aware of each other's presence in the city that is unusually big, but not big enough for two of them.

They don't exchange any words of greeting - no well-wishes to be passed between them in private, because the only thing they will wish each other right now is to get lost in hell.

 

Measuring each other with glares, they stand in the hall, and there's nothing to say. Especially with so many people around - but even if they were alone, it wouldn't change much.

'He's mine, Lothar', and his smile turns almost triumphant at the thought.

'You're so sure of yourself, Jogi Löw', and sarcasm is almost palpable when he walks right past the other man.

Both don't have to say anything out loud.

 

It's autumn, and red berries on golden trees look bleak under the cold grey sky. The rain never stops, this light annoying drizzle keeps falling on and on, showering the cars and houses and people on half-empty streets. The veil of rain hides the buildings, and the traffic is as heavy in the morning, and lighting a cigarette proves to be a complicated task - and does nothing to brighten the mood.

People around are joking and laughing, the hum of a hotel hall surrounds them, and they suddenly are face to face again. No wonder. Avoiding each other, it still seems they can't let any chance of a meeting pass.

 

And they look at each other without saying a word. They study each other. Accessing the threat and making sure that the threat is really not there.

'He said that he loves me', and Joachim wishes with all his passion that Matthäus were there to hear it.

'Do you know what his dreams are about?' and Lothar smiles because he can be sure - Löw knows nothing about it.

 

Moscow never stops moving, the city is crowded, filled with people that seem to be always in such hurry that stopping even for a moment is unthinkable. The cars are rushing by, hurrying too, and when the rain finally stops - in the evening, when it's dark already, the only sound that remains is a constant hum of an endless traffic.

And the new day is filled with sunlight, and though the air is still cold, it’s pleasant to be outside.

And unsurprisingly they meet again, right in front of the hotel. The looks they exchange are much more like glares, and then they turn away almost in synch, as if just seeing each other is the most unpleasant thing.

“Hi, Joachim”, smiles Lothar.

Löw shrugs briskly and walks away.

 

***

 

**Lothar**

 

“Have you ever been in love?” asks Loris.

“For my whole life” – and it makes his son laugh. Loris is old enough to disregard the image of Lothar Matthäus that press creates as not exactly related to reality, and at his age the question is perfectly normal. So he gives an answer and just hopes – wishes – that love will be kinder to his son than it was to him.

But he knows very well that sometimes love is just not fair.

***

 

**Jürgen**

 

“How did you fall in love?” Jonathan looks at him with eyes blue and clear, so like his own. One of a lot of expected questions. The boy wants to know how it happens – love and marriage, not sex, of this children of his age know sometimes better than their parents.

“It was one rainy day in London” – and he tells Jonathan about falling in love with Debbie, and he doesn’t tell him about Gary, and hopes that Jonathan will not follow his steps and create himself so much complications in his private life.

If only love was fair…


End file.
